searching for the glue (we call love)
by cyclothimic
Summary: "I love you. And I will never stop. I said once, when we were still together, that nothing worthwhile ever comes. And you, Felicity Smoak, you are worth everything." (or Felicity just hates reality as much as she hates mysteries)


**who's susan williams? who's billy malone? who? idk.**

 **i suddenly remembered what oliver said during that time when he was tolerable and i wanted to write a fic about it because lol arrow writers are more naive than i think they are if they want me to believe that olicity isn't endgame haahahaha.**

 **now read, ponder, and enjoy!**

* * *

 _i never understood desire until i felt your hands around my throat_

 _-Michael Faudet_

* * *

It started out as sex.

She remembered that night crystal clear, because she supposed it was the night she had decided that enough was enough and she needed to move on – or try. She remembered thinking to herself that it wasn't healthy walking away and then just sit there and wait, because she knew she didn't have that big of a heart to forgive him – yet – but she still, _god_ , she loved him.

So it started out as sex.

She was sitting on the upper floor of Verdant, getting a night off for a rare night of nobody-robbing-anybody or something like that. And she was nursing herself to a very strong glass of vodka on the rocks which never stopped coming because she had told one of the wait staff to "keep them coming".

And there he was, sporting a pathetic goatee and floppy haircut – to be honest – and he normally wasn't her type, which was probably why she even ended up booking a hotel room for the night with him, because she just needed something that was totally different.

Someone who wasn't heroic and hypocritical and devastatingly handsome and didn't actively do the salmon ladder as if it was the easiest thing ever.

And the next morning, she finally got to know his name – because she was too drunk to remember and too engrossed with the idea of _that_ other man that she didn't even bother remembering. Billy was nice with a common white boy's sense of humor and a detective who was just there to protect Star City – as weak as the police force may be. And she…she supposed she liked that.

That sense of normalcy that she hadn't gotten since _he_ strolled into her world five years ago at her cubicle and tilted her life from its utter peace.

So they started going out, having good sex, eating nice dinner, talking about stupid stuff like ants on the sidewalk and _not_ about which villain was currently haunting the streets, and she was content.

It was nice, and for a while there, she found an odd balance between going to the Arrow Cave and working with _him_ while also casually dating Billy. And she started thinking that maybe it was possible, to move on from the one man she had exposed her entire being to love to a man who made her content and maybe she could eventually love.

She had long since accepted that it was impossible to love someone else with as much fervor and intensity as she did _him_. She had also long since made the decision that having another man lie too her and break her heart was a big no and guarantee an automatic veto.

She just couldn't take it anymore. So as much as she wanted to protect and care for and love _him_ , she needed to protect and care for and love herself first. It was probably a selfish notion, but he had been selfish too, too many times to count. She could have this one.

So maybe…just maybe.

She never told _him_ about Billy or Billy about him. She didn't need that complication in her life. But every time she found herself in the Arrow Cave, with all the new people and _him_ hovering over her shoulder because they would be ten times dead without her, she felt like she was supposed to request a word with him and tell him, just to get things out of the way and because he was the mayor and he was going to know one way or another.

Except she never did.

Until his text came to her phone, asking to meet, and she quickly chased Billy out of the loft – it didn't feel like a home without the green toothbrush next to her purple one or the familiar smell of crème brulee cooking in the kitchen.

"Is it real?" he had asked.

And she was stumped. She never asked herself that question, or maybe she just couldn't bring herself to because that would mean bringing reality crashing down on her and she hated reality – probably more than she hated mysteries. Realities were the very reason she was where she was and he was where he was:

Standing on the familiar balcony where they used to bring out a chair and she would sit on his lap and they would just talk.

She couldn't answer him because she didn't even know herself. And she had never felt a bigger relief than when his phone chirped in his pocket to interrupt their conversation that she really didn't want to have because she was afraid that she would crumble and lead him upstairs and commit the one thing that she was so against.

The conversation they had in his office was an official shutdown of any channels that could still flicker between them. It was a declaration that there wouldn't be anything between them anymore and it was time for them to go their separate ways – in terms of personal emotion anyway. But she knew that he knew that they both knew that it would never be completely shut down.

There was too much between them, jamming the door and its panel.

"I will always care about you," he had said as a sentiment, probably parting words. "It's a mortal lock."

As they stared at each other, it was then that she realized the true gravity of how much she _missed_ him. Because her fingers were twitching and her toes were curling and her brain was going at impossible speed per second and everything was telling her to fuck it and just _touch_ him; she missed him.

Honestly, though, she told Billy about working with him, though not really, because she couldn't handle Billy's guilt tripping and she just needed a day off from all the secrets and the lies and she _liked_ kissing Billy. It reminded her of beard burns and the mild taste of orange juice, only there wasn't a trace of vodka but she could accept that.

She had to.

She needed to.

Because she hated realities.

* * *

It was particularly bad day. Prometheus wasn't being very nice today, though he never really was nice. And she still hadn't crack yet _who_ Prometheus was and it was driving her nuts because she despised mysteries and she was always so good at cracking them except this one and oh my god, Rene and Evelyn came back with limps and Curtis and John were dragging Rory as he walked weakly across the platform and _he_ was _bleeding_.

She remembered clearly that he had a date tonight, and that was why she rushed over to him first while ordering everyone to clean up everyone and go home for the night – or so she told herself as she found her hands gripping Oliver's bleeding arm and taking him to one of the med tables.

It didn't take her long to stitch him up, ignoring the mild fragrance of his cologne and the unique aura that he carried with himself all the time, because _not now_ , _woman_. Eventually, everyone dispersed; even John called it a night and went back to his temporary bunker where Lyla was waiting with Sara, leaving her and him alone.

"I thought you have a date?" she finally asked after a long while of him sitting at his table of whatever tinkering with his whatever.

He looked up, eyes wide as if he had just been caught in the act, and then he frowned with confusion. "What date?"

She frowned back at him. "With your girlfriend? Susan Williams, the reporter?" Yeah, as much as she wanted him to move on – not really, but that was for another day because she was with Billy now and she had no right – she didn't quite approve the pairing either but who was she to judge? "Thea told me that you're supposed to have a date – not that I asked but she just called me this morning to complain because she really despise that woman. It's as if Susan Williams is her version of Isabel Rochev or something. But then again, I haven't known anyone as diabolical as Isabel Rochev so the jury's still out." When she saw that he was smiling – _that freaking smile that she had always melted for_ – she stopped herself. She wanted him to stop smiling. "Anyway, don't you have a date?"

He chuckled and she was so glad that she was sitting because she would have fallen on her knees just from that sound that had been turning her on since centuries ago. "No, Felicity, I do not have a date."

"Oh, did she cancel on you?" she teased, because the only way to not think about how much she still missed him was to tease him.

He shook his head, standing up and walking over to her, with a purpose that she couldn't quite identify yet. "I don't know where Thea got her intel from but I never called Susan Williams."

This time, she just stared at him. Dumbfounded. "What?" she squeaked, and she hated herself for it.

He stared at her for a few seconds before he reached across the platform – damn he was so tall – and rolled a spare chair over to where she was sitting, and then he sat himself down. He was still staring at her with that look that he used when he told her that he wanted her to leave Star City with him. He rested his elbows on his knees and clamped his hands together.

"You didn't call her?"

He shook his head and then said, "I need to tell you something."

The last time he said something similar, he had kissed her and she had walked away from him in a hospital hallway. However, this time, his voice didn't carry the same intonation, instead he sounded deflated and resigned but free.

"I wanted to call her, honestly," he started, taking her silence as a sign to continue, not looking at her but at the floor. "But when I was looking at her number, all I could think about is going to the F part in my contact list and call you."

Okay.

"And I realized that it can't happen. I can't do it."

He looked up at her this time, full blown honesty apparent in his clear blue eyes. There was no hope, only sincerity. And her eyes were burning but she couldn't blink.

"I love you," he breathed, shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile and complete adoration in his eyes. "And I will never stop. If I can never stop loving you, then why subject other women to being hopeful that I might love them?"

Crap. Think about Billy. Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy, _Billy_ , _Billy_ – _Oliver Queen_.

"I said once, when we were still together, that nothing worthwhile ever comes easy." He stood up then but loomed over her. His hand was stretched out midair but he didn't touch her. And she wanted him to. What was happening to her? "And you, Felicity Smoak, you are worth everything." He swallowed and took a step closer and leaned down, but he hesitated and she had her eyes closed tight, and her heart almost burst out of her chest when he pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering.

And then when she opened her eyes, he was already gone. Literally, nowhere to be seen.

She released a breath, a tear rolling out of the corner of her eye.

All those notions of moving on, she came to realize, were just her disillusioning herself.

She was still so in love with him.

Fuck, reality just came crashing down on her with a side dish of never-gonna-go-away brick.

Damn you, Oliver Queen.

* * *

 **so yeah. review to tell me what you think!**

 **dear americans, i am so sorry. i am genuinely so sorry. who would have thought that after 8 years of a revolutionary president you would be back to a fascist? if you want to talk, feel free to look for me on twitter. i'm a lot active there. just, hang in there, okay? and stay safe.**


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